


take me there

by emmaslovebug



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaslovebug/pseuds/emmaslovebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory was bored as hell, and just waiting. For what? Just...something. Anything. And when a young and surly wild-haired New Yorker finds himself in Stars Hallow, she may have found the answer she was looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me there

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First Literati and Gilmore Girls fic I've ever written. It came up from me wanting to relive their story (like everyone really), while making it a bit more in depth. I hope you all like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing; some lines from this chapter are taken directly from the show.

She was bored.

Yes, Rory Gilmore, master of always having something to do whether it was for school or fun, was officially bored. _Don’t tell my mother_ , she thought sarcastically.  God, if Lorelai knew of her impending boredom she’d surely attempt to bring on _another_ weekend long Lord of the Rings trilogy marathon coupled with Red Vines and Mallowmars and those pitying looks she’s been not-so-subtly throwing Rory’s way since she and Dean decided to take a break 3 weeks ago.

She couldn’t even think about the ‘break’ without wanting to cry and bury her nose in a book more often than she normally does. It all confused her, how everything happened so fast.  As usual, he was fine, if not slightly clingy and possessive, demanding to know what she was doing every second of the day and constantly wanting to do things with her. Even though he knew how much pressure she was under at Chilton. Being on the _Franklin_ , maintaining a perfect GPA, constantly writing paper after paper after paper, and handling Paris’ out of control despotic attitude really took its toll on the teenage girl after a while. So, of course, having him hovering over her made her snap, which lead to their fight.

_A bad fight._

All she could remember was him accusing her of not loving him anymore, of always wanting to get away from him, just because they hadn’t hung out in a while. Which then turned into him whining about her workload and about how she didn’t try hard enough to make an effort with their relationship.  The angrier he got, the taller he seemed. How is that even possible? You can’t defy biology that way.

Anyways, now here she is, taking a break from her steady boyfriend of a year (okay, let’s face it, they’ve broken up), bored as hell, and just…waiting. For what? She has no idea, just…something. Anything. She’s finished all her reading and paper assignments for the next week, caught up on any new movies she may have missed, and all of her well-worn books just suddenly don’t seem appealing to her.

She’s been lying here for a while, about an hour or so, nodding off and eyelashes fluttering when she hears the door open and slam. “LOIN FRUIT!” She sighs, lifting herself up in bed and leaning against the pillows just as her mother barrels into the room, unsurprisingly, talking 100 miles a minute.

“So, today at work, Michel and Sookie had the biggest fight over the correct way to make crème brulee, right? And in all honesty, I feel like Sookie knows more because hello, professional chef, but then again Michel is French…or Canadian. French Canadian? I don’t even know, but then it got even funnier because Sookie threw a rolling pin at---whoa, what are you doing? Why are you in bed?” She checks her watch. “It’s only 5:30. On a Friday afternoon. Usually you’re busy with school work. Or eating.”

“Oh, I already finished everything for the next week and I just…I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. She _didn’t_ get a lot of sleep last night, true, but it was less about the break up and more about her anxious nature to just…get out. But she didn’t need to tell her mother that.

With a sympathetic crinkle of her brow, she sits down at the edge of the bed and reaches for Rory’s hand. Holding it tightly, she asks, “Are you sure you’re okay after…everything?”

“Yes, mom.” She could still see the incredulous look in her mom’s eyes. “I am. Trust me. I mean, sure it hurts a little, but in all honesty it’s for the best. Dean and I just…we just weren’t meant to last. And that’s okay. I just have to get over it.” Truth be told, she’s been over it for some time. She cried at night more so for the fact that she was just _so damn lonely_.

“If only you’re sure.” She leans over to brush the hair out of her eyes. “Okay, well, I’m going to go change. What do you say a quick trip to Luke’s for some dinner, yeah? Cheeseburgers, fries, coffee, and cherry pie sound absolutely delicious right now.”

She’s heading to the door, when she gasps and turns around, her black pea coat swishing around her legs. “Oh! And, before I forget, keep tomorrow night free, I kind of sort of already invited Luke and his apparently newly found nephew over for a ‘welcome to town’ dinner party.”

Interesting. “Wait, since when does Luke have a nephew?” Not once had she heard Luke mention anything about a supposed nephew. Or a sister, for that matter.

“I’m guessing since he was born, kid.” Raising her eyebrows and her voice dripping with sarcasm, her lips quirking up at the corners.

Hardy har har.

Getting off the bed, Rory searches through her wardrobe for a light jacket, finding a deep red hoodie with the drawstrings frayed. “Funny, mom. So, how old is he? Do you know why he’s coming down?”

“All Luke told me was that he’s your age, he’s from New York, and his mom is sending him down here to stay with Luke indefinitely. Apparently he’s being too much of a devil-may-care 17 year old in the big city and his mom can’t handle it anymore. But it’s all good! We’ll show him a great time, Gilmore-style, and he’ll never want to leave.”

“Awesome. And we do throw quite the party…but we’re not really going to cook are we? Last time we tried that, we almost caught the house on fire. We singed the cabinets and had to replace the stove. Quite the record for personal property damage.”

“Um, no. I’m getting Sookie to cook of course, how could you think so little of me?” Holding a hand up to her heart, all drama and sass, as she starts walking out of the room.

“Oh, you’re so right, mom. How could I ever be forgiven?” Rory says sarcastically, crossing her arms and cocking her head to the side, following her mom out of the house into the slightly chilly night air.

* * *

“Hey Rory, can you help set up the table?” 

She peeks behind her, seeing her mom carrying two big bowls of some sort of macaroni concoction, while Sookie is behind her at the table, chattering away with Jackson. She specifically hears the words ‘what if he doesn’t do dairy,’ and chuckles a bit, shaking her head while she turns around to finish her article.

_Thanks Paris, truly._ She can’t believe Paris had the gall to give her the teacher of the year interview with Max freaking Medina. Not that she hated him, by any means; it’s just been so awkward since her mom had essentially left him at the altar. Otherwise, she thought he was a pretty amazing person; great teacher and a kind person to talk to when she’s having trouble.  Oh well, she had to remain professional in regards to this assignment. She’s worked with plenty of people she didn’t like or had been in awkward positions with before. So why should this be any different?

Closing her laptop after typing up the last part of her paragraph, she goes to the kitchen to help out with the food, when she sees that Luke, and who she presumes is his nephew, are already here. She didn’t even hear them come in. Luke is talking to Lorelai and Sookie on the other side of the kitchen, handing off bags of ice to be put in the freezer. “Oh, hey.”

He’s standing near the archway to the kitchen, with a mixture of nervousness and boredom present on his face. _Wow…he looks…different then I thought he would._ He’s got wild, dark brown hair that sticks up in all different directions. Dark hazel, almost brown eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a slightly crooked mouth whose plump bottom lip droops in the corner; about the same height as her, he’s got a slim yet muscular build. 

His eyes survey her, looking her up and down. His heated gaze is not lost on her, and it’s intriguing and a little unknown. Dean never looked at her this way, and it causes an oddly foreign feeling to arise in her. Coming closer, his hands in his jean pockets, he stands in front of her in a wide stance. “Hey.”

“Um, hi. I’m Rory.” Waving her hand slightly in his direction, the other placed in her back pocket.

“Huh.” He was staring, amusement playing in his eyes as he made his way around her and into her room. _Wait, what the hell?_

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" She laughs nervously, following him. He certainly likes to make himself at home, doesn’t he? She turns around to see that her mom and everyone else aren’t paying attention and ducks quickly into her room. She comes to a halt, sure that there’s a surprised look on her face when she sees he’s openly perusing her bookshelf.

“Wow…aren’t we hooked on phonics?” He moves out to take a slim paperback into his hands. Rory can tell he’s a reader with the way he carefully touches the spine and flips through the pages, holding it with reverence. But she asks anyways, to fill the space.

“Yeah, I read a lot. Do you read?”

He looks up, straight into her eyes, a smirk sitting on his lips.

(And she doesn’t find it attractive. _Not at all_.)

“Eh, not much.”

_Lies._

He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet as he places the book lightly down on the edge of her dresser, looking every bit as anxious as she feels now that she finally learned what he looked like; how he acted. She definitely didn’t expect this, and it scares her. This feeling of not just finding someone good looking, but finding them appealing to her in a specific way that she can’t quite put her finger on. And having him this close to her, seeing as he has no regard for personal space, makes her fingers start shaking and an unfamiliar sensation of warmth flow through her.

This is too weird, she’s just met him. No, no, no.

“Okay then. Uhm…I…Do you want to head back out there? I think they’re done now. It’ll be fun, trust me.” Pointing her thumb back towards the kitchen, she lifts her eyebrows and bites her lip. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes drop down to it and then back up to her eyes, creating butterflies in her stomach. She tries her best to squash them.

“I don’t even know you.” He says, with a defiant voice but a teasing glint in his eye.

She chuckles at that. “No, but you know Luke,” at that he rolls his eyes, “and…and don’t I look trustworthy?” She smiles a little bit, and bats her eyes, all innocence and naiveté. Why she’s doing this, she has no idea. Two seconds ago, she was berating herself for finding him attractive, and now she’s openly flirting? What is going on with her?

“Huh.” Scoffing slightly, he moves forward to step around her, but stops at her side. Her mind registers that his fingers are close enough to touch the edge of her hip, she can feel the warmth coming off him in waves. “Maybe.” Staring into her eyes, she sees sincerity and flirting and something undeniably akin to _hunger._

She takes in a deep breath, and is about to say something, anything to stray away from the delicious tension flowing between them, when he simply moves past her into the kitchen, picking up a soda along the way. She hears chatter coming from the living room and the sound of a door opening and closing softly just barely over the hum vibrating within her, throughout her body.

Shaking her head, she turns to take part in the celebrations (and food, of course, can’t forget the food) when she notices the book he set on her dresser has suddenly disappeared; and she definitely knows where it’s gone.

_Oh god, yeah, she’s most certainly in trouble with this one._

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: What do you think? Questions, reviews, and constructive criticism are always welcome.


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